


Chilled

by Houjuu



Series: Stohn Oneshots [7]
Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Who knows tbh, potentially unrequited love, you can interpret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9102538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houjuu/pseuds/Houjuu
Summary: Moving on is hard but realizing that everyone might have started without you is harder.





	

John Smith hated how much his mind traveled. He hated where it traveled to, how it snaked and twisted from his sweetest moments to the darkest, damnedest times of his short life on this planet.

From the serenity of Sarah’s soft skin back in Paradise to their tearful goodbye knowing they’ll never see each other in that intimate, blissful way again once he left. From being knocked flat on his back to holding Six close before she took off to fend for Europe, desperately kissing her lips like he might be the reason she could end up dead on the other side of the world.

To the choking smog from the Mogadorian ruins that flooded his lungs as Number Nine stepped out of his holding cell for the first time in years. When he took Nine’s hand for the first time, scaling the walls of the West Virginia cave with a borrowed legacy.

When Nine cared for him after he collided with the Mogadorian force field. When Nine made small talk and irresistible smirks to the girls on the train in Chicago that he thought only enticed those he wanted it to.

Their fight on the roof, the apology after in the safe confines of Sandor’s apartment when Nine opened up to him for the first time.

When John first realized he started to bitterly miss Number Nine after leaving with Six to retrieve Number Five, when Sam began to try and distract him from his feelings as soon as he returned.

His real feelings.

He can even remember a time when the war felt secondary because, in an ironic twist, Nine had started to come first.

_He was still first._

_He’s always going to be first._

_But now, things will have to be different._

Number Nine stood across from where John drooped with that pure, handsome smirk ghosted on his lips. His hair was down for once, pooling down his shoulders and framing his angled face and sculpted muscle. Next to him, for the first time since they met, was Number Six. Her long, wavy blonde-dyed hair was shaking with her snarky remark as her arms were crossed against her chest and she raised a fist and collided it with the tan arm next to her.

 _It’s just a fling_ , everyone had said early on.

 _They hate each other_ , John still kept telling himself.

Eight and Marina didn’t say anything specific nor negative, they smiled and laughed along with the pair. The two of them put everyone else’s happiness above any remorse they might have withheld, or they were approving of it the whole time.

 _It’s different now_ , Marina had said absently, looking off and losing herself in romance that didn't matter. She was admiring the development. From haters to lovers, with so much of a change that anyone would envy the amount of energy they spared to make things work.

But was it a romance? There was no proof.

 _Good for Nine, he needs someone like Six_ , Eight had added with his signature, gentle grin on his face.

Ella was quiet at the start but grew to accept that her playground crush on Nine had long since faded away.

 _I think they’re really good together,_ she praised. Ella had gone as far to nudge Nine in the arm and give him her infamous silent, all-knowing smirk. Ella got over it.

He didn't.

It's not romance. He knew Nine. He knew _Six._

Five didn’t seem to care. He kept his distance, his arms snug tight against his chest and his frown as present as it always was.

But despite it all, Five had shocked John the most. When standing to leave, he pressed a hand on his only friend’s heartbroken shoulder, squeezing it quietly, and walking away from the group entirely.

Only John had noticed. He had lightly brushed the spot on his arm that Five touched seconds before. It was one of the few times he smiled since.

Sam took it badly. The rest of the group would continue to say that Sam Goode took the new relationship the worst of them all. The human boy had kept his smiles tight for the week of speculation but his eyes began to give him away entirely. The warm brown lost its luster and the punchlines for every one of his little jokes seemed to grow emptier with every day.

Not a relationship.

He said he felt led on but he wants to respect Six. With a painful smile and the sad gleam in his eye. What a joke. He started to vent anyway.

What about their embrace in the forest when the two of them embraced? The connection they had before Six left for Europe? What about all of the brushes and stolen glances they shared since reuniting?

How could he possibly compete?

If only Sam knew. If only he knew that someone else shared that cold, sultry feeling of a knife twisting in chest with every fake smile and broken laugh.

John couldn't help how it felt, there was nothing he could do except hope these feelings too would pass. At least he was good at hiding the way he broke apart inside. Sam and Marina didn't know what it was directly but they knew something was different. Ella has her suspicions but she shows her interest with a raised eyebrow and a closed stare; she didn't try to ask.

Six didn't know. Eight couldn't possibly either.

Only Five really noticed. Only Five somehow knew. Five must have known as soon as he had lingered in the hall outside of Sandor’s lab, where John had lectured Nine about his behavior but also treated his broken hand with tenderness that was almost intimate.

Nine never noticed. He probably never would.

Their eyes met briefly but John broke the quiet connection as fast as he could. He wasn't going to get lost in those eyes, not anymore.

It was harder than that.

“You awake over there, John,” Six called to him. He bit his lip as hard as he could. Don't look at him. “We’ll need you on your feet in a bit.”

“I'm just nauseous,” he murmured. He always claimed to be sick or tired when he got caught up in his feelings in front of everyone.

“You should take this cold seriously, John, maybe Sandor has something here that we could try finding answers in,” Eight added. John forced himself to look at Eight; the warm, green eyes glowed with genuine concern.

He could taste the bitter, regretful air he breathed in.

“Maybe later.”

“I think we're all just exhausted,” Five’s voice suddenly joined in once more. John's eyes shifted to where Five stood in the hallway frame, leaning on one side with his arms crossed against his chest. Five acknowledged John with a quick, curt shrug. “Too much time together, not enough taking care of ourselves.”

The second sentence bothered John.

“You sleep twenty hours a day, Baggins, I think you're perfectly fine with being a useless hermit,” Nine replied dryly before Eight could comment. Six lightly slapped Nine’s bare arm. Marina and Eight exchanged a quick look.

“And you're completely full of shit,” Five snapped in response, tearing away from the wall and walking to the other side of the room.

“Oh, good one coming from the kid who put the target on our backs in the field.”

“Really? You're a fucking mess. You keep dragging everyone back into your pathetic shitty life,” Five snarled. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of feelings. John could hear the hint of defense in Five’s tone as he continued to yell. It was a nice gesture but very unwelcome. He didn't need help for handling Number Nine. “There's more than just you in this little game, shit face. You're just fucking with-”

“Five, that's enough,” John jumped to his feet and cut him off. Nine and Five both snapped to glare at him. Let them take it out on him, it didn't bother him. At least Nine could feel something towards him.

Five let out a sharp breath and pinches the skin between his eyes, squeezing them shut with defeat. Nine wasn't so easily baffled. His eyes glowed with his usual scoff.

“Let him dig his own grave, he's not welcome anyway.”

“Back off, Nine.”

“Oh, so we’re defending shit now-”

“I am not in the mood to deal with you,” John snapped, cutting him off. He lowered his gaze to his feet, trying to let himself breathe. He couldn't bring his eyes to meet Nine’s any longer.

“Are you ever? You don't even look at any of us anymore.”

He wasn't wrong. John held his tongue and kept his head low. He could hear Five breathing near him.

“You're the pathetic one, the absolute mess we all know and tolerate Number Four, not me.”

The harsh sound of the number cut into him harder than the weak insult did. Nine barely called him John anymore; he missed the Johnnys, he missed the closeness.

John turned his back on the other Garde and let his feet carry him out of the room, down the dark hall of the Hancock center town home. He couldn't be near them right now; he couldn't be near Nine.

He paced faster, dodging the side tables and sharp corners until he was sure he was far out of sight and mind. The lecture hall’s crisp air dampened against his skin, his breath a delicate puff of white in the dim light. How could the temperature be so different from one spot in the house to another? He went from feeling nothing to a quiet shudder in the frosty air. The foggy pockets of clouds that escaped through his pants reminded him that he could still be cold both inside and out but never truthfully feel warm again.

Maybe his legacy was a sign. A little grim dark for anyone’s taste but not entirely dishonest. His track record was already very poor from Sarah to Nine.

Nine wasn’t even on that list.

It was odd; the two of them were never together, they'd never considered it, but the heartache was strong enough that it drove John out entirely. It felt like there was something, or that the dull connection was meant to be more than dagger-like eye contact and bristled arguments.

More than John’s fingers ghosting the swollen bones in Nine’s hand while trying to keep all of the honey out of his voice when he calmed the rash Garde after his first physical fight with Five.

He detected the sudden sound of footsteps too late for John to tuck away and hide from whoever chased after him. By the time he realized someone had tailed him, he wheeled around to see Number Nine’s bulky frame in the dusk lighting. His eyes were heavy, a mixture of a hostility and confusion in the dark tones of the irises.

“You can’t hide yourself as well as you can your baggage, Four.”

John held his tongue yet again, refusing to take any of Nine’s bait. His guard wasn’t lost just yet, not just because Nine followed after him and demanded answers.

“I thought we knew each other pretty well by now,” Nine continued on, taking a careful step into the lecture hall towards John. The blonde boy let his eye drop to Nine’s feet, watching his slow and careful steps with an edge. If he had to dash out of the way of something, he knew to watch how Nine’s feet grazed the floor for the kind of rhythm he would lead into.

He slowly started to back away when Nine felt too close. He wasn’t ready.

“Apparently not,” John replied heavily. He brought his eyes up, suppressing his flinch when he noticed how close Nine had actually gotten. How far they had moved from the middle to near the back wall of the lecture hall. The other Garde was mere a matter of two or three steps away, with the vivid aggressive from moments earlier forgotten in his eyes. His stare was tense but with care precision, like he was trying to take every detail of John to mind and analyze him.

“But apparently so,” Nine countered, moving another step closer. John swallowed hard, holding his ground. Nine would never make him submit; he would never back or bow down to Number Nine. “Drop the act. We both know that you’re stupidly emotionally, John. Your eyes are a dead giveaway.”

John hated how much hearing his name on Nine’s lips pinched his heart. He could feel his gaze falter, lowering his eyes to focus anywhere else but Nine’s own.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” John murmured against himself, so quiet that he was sure Nine could have missed it if he was any further away. But with every sentence, Nine had managed to climb those few paces closer; he could practically feel Nine’s breath on his skin.

“Cut it out,” Nine snapped in a low voice, grabbing the fabric of John’s shirt and pushing him backwards into the wall. John coughed as he tried to hold back his initial gasp, gritting his teeth and staring up at Nine. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“How about you? I’m not yours, put me down,” John hissed, curling his fingers around Nine’s wrist and trying to loosen the hold on him but with no avail.

“You’re always my fucking problem, John.”

“Likely story.”

Their eyes met briefly in the midst of the beginning of the spat and John could have sworn he saw a refraction of hurt.

“Maybe it would be if you gave a shit about someone else for once in your life,” Nine sneered, pushing against John to get in his face. He closed his eyes when the hot air of the other boy’s next retort hit his cheeks. “You throw yourself a little pity party and tell everyone in your life to fuck off when something goes wrong but we all see it. We’re not fucking blind, we know something’s wrong with you.”

“Yeah, well maybe one of you is something wrong with me, did you think about that,” John put a hand on Nine’s face and shoved it backwards as hard as he could, knocking him off balance enough to free himself from the tight grip of Nine’s hand and push the Garde. “Or maybe even the someone who is shoving themselves into my life.”

“So the truth finally comes out, oh tell me, do honest people like me make you all sad and lonely, Johnny boy?” Nine caught his footing and came right back at him, securing one of John’s hands and pinning it above his head against the wall once more.

The second hand caught John’s fist as he tried to swing it at Nine’s head.

“What, you don’t like it when other people have distractions and you’re down one human girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” John spat, meeting Nine’s eyes with a cold glare.

“There’s so much more than just you and whatever legacy you think you have, Four-”

“Enough!”

He didn’t see it.

He claimed nothing was hidden but Number Nine didn’t really see anything that went on in John’s eyes.

_How._

John’s short outburst only fueled Nine further.

“Yeah, enough, enough of your shit, kid. Not everything can go whatever way you want it to just because you think you’re special, ok? Get that through your fucking head. You’re the one who sent the pretty cheerleader away, you’re the one who said you were fine-”

“That’s not-” John choked, trying to get a word out before Nine could push more falsity on him.

“Not what, John? Huh? I think it’s pretty fucking obvious how selfish and hypocritical you are. Your pals are hurting and all you can think about is the little girl you left at home and cried over. What about our Cepans? Our fight, huh? What about everyone upstairs? Sam? Six? What about me and my fucking shit? Am I expendable so you can have your little happy ending?”

The questions came fast and John didn’t have any answers. His thoughts were a fog that spun over and over. It wasn’t that his mind stopped thinking or that he had nothing entirely, it was that he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

To say the words that have been dying to come out.

_You are important._

_You are._

_I._

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Nine snarled, dropping John and taking a few steps back. “When you’re done acting like Five, you can come back and join us like the civil piece of shit you think you are.”

_You._

Nine turned sharply and started to leave.

_No._

Everything he wanted to say was jumbled inside of his head, aching and tearing at every part of him. Maybe, because Nine was important, John couldn’t speak. He could barely breath, his pants coming out short and desperate. Right now, in their current place, with everyone else upstairs, Nine was ok. He was stable, he was growing. With them, Nine was outlasting his demons.

He didn’t need him.

He didn’t need to know what John thought of him.

That much was clear.

John let him walk. And every step hurt so much more than the prior.

“You know,” John whispered to himself when Nine’s back started to fade away in the dark hallway of the other side of the lecture hall, “nothing can compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her.”

Nine stopped moving.

“But it hurt when I realized that you’re not in love with me.”

Beat.

Nine’s head turned slowly, almost as though he was going to respond, but his shape moved and disappeared in the darkness.

_He heard me._

Beat.

_But what does he think of me now that he knows._


End file.
